Thursday, August 28, 2003

I forgot that this is fun

A few weeks back I made a short mix CD for Jim that included a few songs by the White Stripes and others. Along with the CD I gave him a copy of the sheet music for the White Stripes' songs. I was hoping at least one of the songs would click with Jim and he would record it at home on his four track. He was wooed by the song "We're going to be friends." He recorded a version of it and gave me a tape with his take of the song along with his usual large output of recordings. I may have to buy a new cassette tape just for the tapes Jim has made of his home recordings for me.

The other night I picked my high-end imitation Stratocaster and tried to learn the simple finger picking that goes with the song "We're going to be friends." Last night Wendell and I practiced it together. Hey, playing guitar is fun! Even if, like me, you ain't no good. A couple times last night I actually lost myself and stopped thinking about what I was doing and just played. I hadn't done that in forever. I don't know what it is about me that has created this lazy streak a mile wide. I have always had it and I don't know where it came from. Hopefully last night was a good sign and I'll start playing every day again, even if it's just for ten minutes.

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

I smell Emmy!

Actually I smell propagandist shit.

"One of the original aspects of Soviet cinema is its daring in depicting contemporary historical personages, even living figures," André Bazin dryly observed in his 1950 essay, "The Myth of Stalin in the Soviet Cinema."

Personally, I can't wait until Christianity becomes another dead religion that we study in our mythology text books. All remnants of the original message of the one they called Jesus have been successfully squelched by the various sects.

The best calls we get are from businessmen. They're amazing. They can turn a 2 minute Q&A telephone call into a torturous fifteen-minute conversation.

George Carlin once said that the goal of business is to fuck the other guy before he gets a chance to fuck you. After speaking to these guys on the phone over the years I am of the opinion that the actual goal is to lull the other guy into a coma with inane conversation and then date rape 'im.

I may be wrong, I'm not in business. It's just the impression I've received.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

The old guy in the back

Because of the time I spent in the service I started college late. In fact, because I didnt' fly to Charlotte before I got out of the Marines I started college a year later than I should have. I was 23 when I started taking classes at Central Piedmont Community College.

I spent about three years there as a part-time student and then spent three more years at UNC-Charlotte. Eventually I walked away with an English degree. The whole time I was in school I was older than most everyone else in my classes. Especially at the university.

I remember sitting in poetry writing class one day talking to a girl that I had a crush on. I believe she was a junior and this was my first year at the university. She asked me my age and I told her that I was 27. She looked astonished. Her surprise added a little color to her face and she was even cuter. She then said, still a little shocked, "No way! I knew you were older, Ed, but I had no idea you were that old."

She was then embarrassed by her surprise but it was all good. I kidded her about it and then it was forgotten. I wish I could remember her name. She was my partner in a letter writing project we did in class. Every week we would alternate exchanging letters in class. It was a fun project and similar to email exchanges since the tone of the letters was casual. I wrote a lot about trains. The tracks that run from Charlotte to Raleigh are near the university and you could hear them engines whistle all day. It made the place feel more rural than it was.

Several years ago, around 1991 or 1992, the classic rock station in town called "The Fox" had a concert at the region's largest outdoor venue called Blockbuster Pavillion. I don't remember who all they had playing. It was a bunch of acts I wouldn't bother seeing now but I wasn't as sophistomocated as I am now. Stevie Nicks was there along with the band that does "Born to be Wild." It's one of the few concerts that I have been to that I can recall nothing about it that was interesting. Good thing we snuck in liquor.

I went with my friend, Jeff, and my then girlfriend Maria. Jeff snuck in schnapps and I snuck in whiskey. We both got bored and, while sitting in the hotting sun, we drank too much. Maria told me she never wanted me to drink whiskey again because I yelled at girls and Jeff threw up and passed out.

After sleeping for about an hour and a half Jeff woke up, cleaned off his face and looked like he wasn't sure where he was. He didn't really wake up, he kinda blinked and looked confused. Like a mummy coming to life in the middle of a museum. A couple of young women were sitting behind me and one of them called to me, "Hey, Hey!" I turned around and said, "Yeah?"

She said, rather snottily, "Tell your friend that the next time he comes here to bring a mattress so he can sleep better."

I laughed and turn to Jeff and repeated what she said. Jeff was laying on his stomach, raised his head, gave her the finger and said, "Up yours, baby." He then laid his head back down.

Sunday, August 24, 2003

The Guy

There's this guy that is at the library every day. He's a homeless fella and, according to one of our security persons, he is a Vietnam veteran and he was an engineer at some point in his life. I think Vietnam messed him up so much that he just stands around all day. He's a nice guy and smiles and says hello if you greet him. He fascinates me but I've never really talked to him.

Here's a picture of him standing outside waiting for the light to change.

Saturday, August 23, 2003

Google calculator

In their attempt to be everything to everybody google has a calculator. I didn't know that until a couple of weeks ago when I put in the name of one of my units, 2/9, into a google search. Google first divided two by nine and then offered to do a further search. Pretty cool, I thought.

It also does long complicated problems for you. Let's say you drove your race car around the .533 mile speedway of Bristol TN and your average speed was 128.709 mph, how many seconds would it take you to complete a lap? Let's let google do it for us.

I know I've mentioned this before but when I moved to Charlotte in 1990 there was a great club called the 13-13. It was an old warehouse on South Blvd with a plywood bar, scary bathrooms and a great sound system.

Some of the best shows I saw there were three shows by the Dead Milkmen over a period of a couple of years. They were a tight band and they were funny. Their shows also featured the friendliest pits in the world. No one tried to take anyone out and people helped each other up when they fell. It was more like recess than a rock show.

I was doing some surfing and came across a picture of the band from this summer. They broke up a while ago but I guess they got together to do some voiceovers for a video they are releasing.

I can't wait to read this book. I don't know if any of you have ever read any of Franken's books but "Why not me?" is hysterical. It's a fictional account of Franken running, winning and then pissing away the presidency.

Thursday, August 21, 2003

And he spake and they was mostest afraid

The other night the Lord spoke to me in a dream. He spoke of unity, clarity, #2 pencils and the workin' man. The Lord actually said, "workin' man." He said to me, after that first bit of stuff, that I should find some way to show the world 'the workin' man.' He said I should use my blog and it's minute but elite corps of readers to distribute an image, that I was to capture, that showed the true spirit of "the workin' man."

I was awed and diminished in the presence of the lord and creator. I mean, how could it be possible for someone of my means and talent to capture the essence of "the workin' man?" I was stunned into inactivity and spent the afternoon finishing up "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress" by Robert Heinlein. It's story of a revolt against an opressive government ringing truer than it ever had before. The only book I have ever read more times than this novel was the policy and procedures manual at work.

Later in the afternoon I was practicing my handstand against the wall in my apartment's library and I heard Wendell pull up in his car, arriving home after another day of working for the Man. I grabbed my camera and captured the following image of the Big Fella coming in the door. He's dang happy to be home but still a touch frazzled from his day in the machine. It's the essence of "the workin' man" and it'll solidfy my reputation as a taker of snapshots worthy of any family album.

So I give submit this picture to you deer rider and also to you, Lord. I hope I have pleased my god.

I also have a challenge that goes along with this picture. Find these following items and you'll win a prize:

1) A bust of Abraham Lincoln
2) Richard Nixon's visage on a button
3) A skeleton with a smiley face
4) The Led Zeppelin DVD
5) A can of Duff Beer
6) A baseball sitting in a candle holder
7) Wendell

Last night I went and saw one of my favorite local bands called Poprocket. I don't want to get too enthusiastic about them since I haven't seen them in way too long of a time. If I liked them so much I would have seen them more in the last year. I feel kind of band about not seeing them because I know it doesn't take a very large crowd to make a local band's day and I should support bands like Poprocket which I think are playing music that is unique and special.

Last night was interesting because there really weren't very many people in the bar but most of the people there were there to see the band. Poprocket played a quick and very tight 30 minute electric set. That was cool because they were supposed to play acoustic but the guitarista and singer, Jay Garrigan, broke a string on his acoustic right before they were to start the show. He said, fuck it, and they played an electric set which is what I wanted to see anyway.

Near the end of the set a small group of young whoo-girls came through and almost drowned the band out. Jay appeared to turn his amp up, either that or he was adjusting the sound. It did seem to get louder. Jay was supposed to play an acoustic solo set later in the night but more whoo-girls came in after the band ended and I had to get the hell out of there. They were giving me a headache and upsetting my stomach.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

Vacation rocks

You may be wondering if I'm bored yet since I have been on vacation since August 8th. The answer is, fuck no. I think I've been out of bed before ten a.m. once. Heaven.

Whenever anyone asks me what I do in my free time I give the usual answers like reading, playing on the 'puter, television, riding my bike and long walks in the rain. I never mention an acitvity which I realized last night that deserves mention: listening to music.

I have a fairly large collection of CD's and most that are self-burned are bootlegs. Last night and Sunday night Wendell and I spent a few hours sitting in the front room listening to music. Television off and tunes just playing.

Sometimes when Chris, Wendell and I listen to music we get excited and start playing DJ. Running into the room and grabbing a handful of CD's and playing a song or two from several albums. Sometimes I enjoy doing that more than playing full albums, especially with CD's since many of them now run over an hour.

So I'm going to add that to my list, listening to tunes. It's a hobby, dammit.

Friday, August 15, 2003

Headin' out

Today, around 5:20, I'm hopping the train to Durham to hang out with Lee over the weekend.

I just found out yesterday that Sleazefest is taking place at a club in Chapel Hill. The Dirtbombs are playing! The fucking Dirtbombs!! Then I saw that Southern Culture on the Skids is playing before the Dirtbombs! What an incredible lineup. I then saw the price of the tickets: $25. Dang. I wonder if I offered them ten dollars they'd let me come in for the Dirtbombs' show? Probably not.

I used to purchase peanut butter and use it to occasionally make sammiches with it, of course. When I have a jar of peanut butter it tends to last a long time since I don't eat it very often. And because of that it's ability to last a few months on a shelf it's handy to have around when you don't feel like cooking. You can simply whup together a PB & J.

I stopped buy peanut butter a few years ago because my roommate always ate the shit up. Having a jar of peanut butter around was like leaving a can of cat food out. It's gonna get eaten exclusively until it's gone. I'd go to make a PP & J and there would be just enough peanut butter left in the jar to piss me off.

I'd say "you ate all the fucking peanut butter."

He'd say "There's some left." Complete bullshit.

"Yeah," I'd say, "there's enough left to coat the outside of the jar so that I can't see it's empty."

"Quit your bitchin'"

So I just fucking stopped buying peanut butter.

I bought peanut butter today, though, because I have a new roomate. I also bought strawberry jam. I had me a PB & J.

I should call it a PB & J and M. Because I coat the bread that the peanut butter goes on with margarine. I like the margarine and peanut butter together. I love the taste of the three textures and flavors mixing together. It's like eating cake without the very real danger of a tummy ache.

I had a dream last week. I was walking in New York City and all the lights were out. It scared me so I cancelled by trip to New York. Call me Nostra Edmus.

This power outage is making me look like a fucking genius. I'd be sitting in a train right now somewhere around Washington D.C. while listening to an announcement that would be telling me to get the fuck off the train and go find a room.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe

I'm a lighter loser. If I have a lighter I can't keep track of it. Very rarely do I keep a lighter long enough for its fluid to actually run out. I prefer transparent lighters so you can see the progress of the lighter fluid. The closer it gets to the bottom the more excited I get and the more attached I get to the lighter. It's like the retirement of an athlete whose career you followed; you want to be there at the end so you can savor his accomplishments.

Today my clear plastic lighter, which I think I may have stolen from Wendell, died. I had hope it would last until tomorrow so I could buy a replacement on a convenient trip to the store. Now I am forced into borrowing Wendell's current lighter and he's being very careful in ensuring that I do not walk off with it.

Did you ever have a lighter last so long that it starts to become special? You start to associate yourself with it. It becomes yours. You start to think that maybe I found that magic lighter, the one that lasts forever. Fantasies start to jump into your brain. Maybe you'll never have to buy another lighter for the rest of your life. Perhaps this lighter actually works underwater. I bet this is even the type of lighter they use on the space shuttle. I bet this is the very lighter that Chuck Yeager used to find his car keys when he dropped them while attempting to drunkenly open his car door back when he was a stud test pilot.

Nah, it's just a lighter and it's going to expire and leave you lighting paper with a stove burner because you are home alone and the only matches available are cheap ones you can get free at a titty bar.

My first real job was a ski/golf resort in Cedar, MI called Sugar Loaf. I worked in housekeeping as a houseman. I had never heard of a position called the houseman until I applied for it. I did this job starting, I think, late in my sophomore of high school. I remember wanting to get a job after a few friends and I went to a pizza parlor after baseball practice and I had no money to play video games with the rest of them. I was, like, "Man, I need a fucking job, I feel like a little kid."

It was a minimum wage job and the duties consisted mostly of picking up dirty linen that the maids bagged up while cleaning the rooms and delivering clean laundry to them as they needed it. Another major duty was delivering roll away beds to rooms. Also, each of the three houseman split up the evening duties. That consisted of emptying the garbage cans around the place when you first got there and then just patrolling the area and cleaning up spills and barf when required.

Sugar Loaf was a place where a lot of kids from my school hung out. Many of them skiied but not all of them. A few regulars just came to play video games in the lounge and hope to find someone that would buy them alcohol. I remember there was one particular game in the room that would give you free credits if you kicked it in the right spot with a ski boot. The catcher from our high school baseball team, Anthony Hayes, was especially adept at racking up phalangeal credits.

One of my favorite activities was spending time with these middle aged ladies of Polish descent who worked in the laundry. They smoked a lot, played bingo and liked to talk. My favorite was the mother of a one of my classmates. I had a huge crush on her daughter and her mother knew and liked to say to me, "you'd be perfect for my Veronica." Since I knew I wasn't 'cool' enough for Veronica it used to amuse me to tell her what her mother said since it embarrassed her. That was a close as I knew I was ever going to get to making Veronica blush.

Monday, August 11, 2003

Methinks they protest too much

I see that Al Franken is being sued by Fox for his use of the phrase fair and balanced in the title of his new book. What I think they are actually are afraid is the fact that Al is going to savage them in his book and perhaps reveal to some who may not know how horrible their 'news' coverage is.

Yeah, like anyone who watches Fox News is going to read a book by Al Franken.

I had such a warm fuzzy day today except for those dang dudes that woke me up. That is so far in the past that I forgive them. Especially after I found out that our manager forgot to send a letter out that would have informed us that construction workers would be banging on the side of our buildings at such an early hour. Good thing rent here is super cheap or I would consider complaining.

How I warm fuzzied the day: burned CD's of good stuff for peoples. I wish I had time to make a mix for Tom but you can't do everything. I spent some time and finished reading the graphic novel "The Crow" that Martin loaned me. I'm still digesting that disturbing work. Read more of "Kavalier and Clay." Watched a movie with fellow bloggers. I will do a major picture post and blog link of that tomorrow.

Our movie night consisted of watching a half hour of "Godzilla 2000" which is the standard Japanese rubber suited Go-Jira with some nice digital touches. We then watched "Raging Bull." What an amazing and challenging movie!

After that I got home and strolled to a new club within walking distance of my home called "The Room." Playing there was David Childers. Dang, he's good. All I have to say about the usual soul cleansing Childers' show is the picture of his guitar player, Eric Lovell, which is below this text.

Saturday, August 09, 2003

Last night I went to bed about 2 a.m. after watching Smokey and the Bandit. I just woke up a few minutes ago to the sound of a Carolina country boy pounding on and tearing off the rain gutters of my building. Since I had no chance but to be awake I picked up snippets of their conversation. The one on the ladder who was making biggest ruckus expressed concern over the power lines and referred to the other vernacularly as "son."

As I laid in bed, my required eight hours of sleep hopelessly shattered I prayed to Jebus that they would go away. I was forced into prayer for one reason only: I do not have a gun.

Few things in life are more satisfying than
wrapping your hand around a full styrofoam
container of jumbo sized eggs. So much life
is in your hand. Twelve potential inhabitants of
this planet are aborted and then chilled.
Their fate, in my household, is to either have
their protective shells shattered while their
essence is fried in a pan or having the energy
that would house and feed them hardened by
heat generated by boiling water. This energy will
then be released from its off-white boarding
school of 'no escape' and slowly cooled betwixt
my choppers.

Thursday, August 07, 2003

Zip a dee doo da

I have a fucking digital camera. A nice one too, goddammit.
Not some piece of shit digital camera you can purchase
from one of those guys that sells tennis shoes and
alien-shaped balloons in the parking lots of closed
gas stations. Man, am I broke now.

I spent yesterday photographing my co-workers. I
am a little surprised I didn't get a email from the
boss lady that contained a message ordering me
to leave my digital camera at home from now on.
I need to do some kind of photography project.
Since I work downtown I can do a gallery of
homeless guys but then I would have to interact
with them and I don't know if I'm ready for that.

I think I'll put together a little photo album of
people I know and see, photos from my walks
during lunch and just whatever else catches my
eye during the day. It'll give me something to do
with all that space going to waste at Roadrunner.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

Memory Lane

Around five years ago or so my friend Jeff called me up and
said, "Let's go to Georgia and buy some lottery tickets." I
don't remember if I was on vacation and lazing around the
apartment or if I just had a three-day weekend but I was
free and said, "Sure, I ain't doin' nothin.'"

He came by my place and we hopped in my dearly departed
1986 gray-silver Honda Accord and got on I-85 and headed
toward the Georgia border.

We made it to the Georgia border in a few hours and
purchased the lottery tickets. Jeff then noticed that
Royston, GA was just 30 miles down the road. Located
in Royston is Ty Cobb's tomb. What the hell, we thought,
it's not that far away. So we depart for Royston, GA.

Finding Ty Cobb's tomb in Royston was easy since there
were signs directing you to the graveyard which housed
the tomb. The tomb it self was anticlimatic.
What struck me most about the whole experience was
the town. The graveyard was bordered on one side
by a railroad track. On one side of the tracks the town
was mostly white and middle class. On the side of the tracks
the graveyard was on the residents were mostly black
and definately not middle class. I had heard of the phrase
"wrong side of the tracks" but I had never seen it displayed
so before.

While driving around Royston we noticed that Athens was
only about 30 miles away and we had heard that Athens
was a good place to go and get drunk. We figured, what
the hell, it's not that far away...

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

Take a giant step

Over the pass few months I've actually saved some money.
I have mentioned several times to many people of my
intentions of taking a trip to New York City during my
upcoming vacation. After taking stock of my work
clothes, underwear, casual clothing and my lack of
a digital camera I am considering not going New
York City and spending all that money that could
go towards the aforementioned items.

Monday, August 04, 2003

Comrades

After posting that picture of me the other day I naturally looked
through all the photographs I took when we did that month of
training in Honduras. I shot a total of 4 rolls of film with a cheap
point and shoot camera that a buddy of mine stole from a
colonel's wife during the drunken debauchery that is a ball
for the Marine Corps birthday. Not only did he steal but the
son of a bitch sold it to me instead of just making a gift of it
like I would have. Still, I got it for less than fifty percent
retail so I can't complain too much.

The group photo I am posting today is a shot of the
communications platoon of the headquarters company
of battalion 2/9 of the Fifth Marines Regiment which
is in the First Marines Division. In other words it's a
photo of about 30 hungover Marine radio operators
and wiremen.

Every time I look at this photograph I laugh or smile
quietly to myself. In the center of the picture you
will see a Marine wearing his helmet and flak jacket
and standing at rigid attention while everyone around
him appears dishevelled and anything but gung-ho.
I've talked about him before, his name is Cale Johnson
and I haven't seen him since we both got out of the
service in 1990.

The reason he is doing what he is doing is that the
day before we had returned from spending three
weeks in the field in Honduras. The whole time we
were there it was over a hundred degrees every
day and no one had had a touch of alcohol and
we had hot food maybe twice. Spend three weeks
in the service sober and eathing nothing but MRE's
and you'll go a little nutso. Naturally when we got
back we all went out and got shnockered.

Everyone was hungover and the way Cale and I
dealt with playing Marine while miserable was to
turn the sarcasm knob up to 11. In charge during
that holidy in Honduras was the Regimental commander
who was a colonel bucking for general that had this
thing for making us wear our flak jackets all the time.
Cale and I countered that by wearing our helmets
also and extorting our comrades to "tighten it up"
and act like Marines. This only went on for about
half and hour because our hangovers were too
oppressive for continuous jocularity. Nevetheless
every time I see Cale standing at attention with
his helmet and flack jacket while those around
him lollygag the incongruity of his pose slays me.

Saturday, August 02, 2003

You go, Hal!

"I believe from the bottom of my non-partisan heart that the George Bush wolfpack is the most dangerous, least honorable, least sensible gang of thugs and cynics that ever aimed America's Big Gun at a trembling planet."

All those chain stores in your neighborhood may be
unsightly, they may be threatening local businesses
but they are making my job easier.

Let's say some business sleaze ball opens up a much
needed Palm Beach Tan in your town and you can't
find it in the phone book because the book hasn't
been updated yet. Heck, call your library! The
librarian, being an expert at searching, will go to
the franchise's webpage and see if they have a
store locator. They do and voila! I can find the Palm
Beach Tan closest to my home.

Friday, August 01, 2003

Daily Show

Last night Wendell and I watched the
Daily Show for the first time in a couple
of weeks last night. For those of you
that don't know this show is hosted
by John Stewart and is broadcast
Monday through Thursday on Comedy
Central.

In my opinion it is consistantly the funniest
show on television right now. Last night
they covered the press conference by Bush
and just ripped him a new asshole on national
TV. It was brilliant, biting and laugh-out-loud
funny. I was on the couch howling. I know
the public speaking ability of our embarrassing
president is pretty easy material but, dang, it
sure was funny.

I don't have a lot to say about this show, I am
not a media critic and don't have the vocabulary
to articulate the particulars of good comedy but
if by some happenstance anyone who is associated
with the show comes across this blog let me say
that there is nothing on television right now that
makes me laugh non-stop for ten minutes. You
guys are brilliant.